


Looking Down

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Egbert is just trying to work through his course work in peace, but his neighbor's antics make for impossible working conditions. Who practices sword-fighting half naked, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scalding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustDrinkTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustDrinkTea/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was figuring out what kind of angle I would need to get away with throwing coffee at you."

Your name is John Egbert, and you have decided that if your neighbor doesn't stop walking around his roof half naked you will have to pour your early morning coffee into water balloons and drop them out the window. Such hijinks will likely teach him the error of his ways. A burnt back that smells of free trade organic coffee is a lesson well-learnt, you believe.

However, you think to yourself, it could be worse. Crazy blond man with a katana (as he is titled within the regions of your mind) could have been an old man. After all, you still have mental scars from when you caught your cousin's guardian- you both call him grandpa, despite intense confusion within your family tree- in the middle of unspeakable acts. You really do not want to think about that.

Instead you attempt to bring your mug to your lips, where you will sip at your coffee with just enough sophistication and disdain to bespeak your father's tender care and your subsequent fine upbringing. Despite your attempts to stick to that plan, you inhale your drink such a way that you end up choking, coughing, and nearly vomiting on the roof directly adjacent. Naturally, this captures the attention of crazy katana man. For a moment you are stuck making dying noises with boiling liquid trapped in your throat, your neighbor staring at you with a completely blank face. Then, all at once, he folds in on himself with breathless laughter.

"This is so not funny," you choke out once you have the breath, "I could have died, asshole!" The douche has the nerve to lean back, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

"Serves you right for eyeing my body, perv. I'm a blushing innocent here, and you've gone and made me unsuitable for marriage. You've seen me indecent, and now I'm unfit for my honeymoon. Thank you, Sir Asshole of Hipstonia."

You have no idea how to respond to that. You have more proof than ever before that this guy is stark raving bonkers.  
"Yeah, right! At least I'm not making love to a sword on top of an apartment!" You have no idea who is controlling your mouth, because there is absolutely no way you just said that.

"Don't be jealous just because your sword doesn't get the attention it needs," the man says, with a deadpan intonation that gives nothing away. You splutter, and this time it has nothing to do with your coffee.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Your question sounds more like an admission of defeat to your ears, even though it should be the opposite scenario because it it is his fault, damn it!

"Dave Strider, master of mixes, microphones, and shitty swords. I'm also a damn good lay, just FYI." He pronounces the acronym as if it is a word, leaving you with a moment to interpret what a fwigh might be. A moment after you realize what he meant, the rest of his statement filters in.  
"Gross dude," you exclaim, delighted. Someone who can make jokes about this kind of shit might just be the kind of guy you want for a friend. He gives you a bemused look.

"You're the one looking out your window like my training is a peepshow," Dave points out. You wave a hand.  
"I was figuring out what kind of angle I would need to get away with throwing coffee at you," you reply, grinning. His eyebrow twitches over his sunglasses. "Damn, kinky much?"

You color. "Like you're one to talk, mister swordsman!" He shakes his head and tilts his head.

"What's your name?"

"John. John Egbert."

He considers you for a second before walking to the side of his roof, cupping his hands around his mouth, and yelling,"Egderp is a horny hipster!" He proceeds to blow you a kiss and make a speedy escape back into the building before your mouth can even form a response.  
"Asshole!" That's it. You are definitely preparing coffee bombs for tomorrow morning.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is Dave Strider, and you believe this is the best idea you have ever had. With a last heave and the strategic placement of cement blocks, you have finished constructing a temporary penthouse of cloth atop your apartment's roof. It may or may not violate your lease, but it can easily be disassembled. At least, if your memory serves you correctly, it can.

You sit down for a minute, appreciating the way the red sheets billow out from their makeshift seams and tent over the abused antenna. Sometimes it's hard to contemplate the fact that it has been at least a decade since you and bro created this monstrous fuck up for ironic pillow fort training, so you don't, for the most part. You have no idea how the stitches have held the sheets together this long. The fact that you knew where this thing was after leaving it untouched for years is shocking.  
You think about the reason you have dragged it out of the ruins of an old guitar case in the first place and suppress a grin. The look on Egderp's face will be priceless. It's a shame your freaky eyes don't have x-ray vision. For now you'll just have to settle for-

Right on cue, you hear a squawk and the splutter of coffee missing the trip to a certain resident's stomach once more. "Dave," you hear, nearly screeched and coupled with choking laughter. You can't help it. The corner of your mouth quirks upward.

"Better Instagram it, Egbooty," you yell, and okay, maybe it isn't your cleverest pun; however, if John's laughter is the determining factor, it is your best joke yet. When you hear the click of an honest to God camera, you realize that your fort is now immortalized in film, complete with your shitty cartoon that proclaims, "noonne sees the wisard".

For some reason you are completely okay with that.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is John Egbert, and you will finish typing up your thesis on the proper application and execution of humor as soon as Dave removes his puppet from your computer. You have no idea how, but he has managed to leave something in your apartment each night. For the first week or so he had taped photos to your door, and you had thought the pictures of inappropriate objects contrasting with beautiful sunsets were funny; however, they soon became old hat. Then, Dave moved on to horrible poetry about such important matters as Nicki Minaj's hair. You had never actually seen him leave the offerings, however. So, you made it your goal to catch him in the act. He took it as a challenge, and now he has no problem with proving that he is a, "wicked ninja of awesome," and is able to slip in and out of your building with nary a trace. You know it has to be him,seeing as only he would engage in such an inane form of psychological warfare. He called himself a ninja, after all. You let him live without much retribution, as the last time you burst into his room and yelled about the invasion of privacy, he dumped a pile of creepy puppet ass on you. You took a minute to impress upon him the fact that puppets are creepy as hell before leaving, but he did not seem impressed.

His sister, Rose, later texted you later to inform you that you succeeded in doing what she had been trying to do for years, and that you had in fact convinced Dave to stuff several of the plush people into his fridge. You proceeded to save her number to your phone. Having blackmail on Dave was always a plus.

You pause for a moment. When did interacting with Dave become such a common occurrence that you require blackmail? You snort as you realize this is more troubling a development than the fact that Dave and Rose managed to get your contact information without asking you for it. You haven't even met Rose.

Unimpressed, you stare at the plush, phallic puppet that sits on your laptop. Its blue skin burns your eyes, and you tap up a quick message to Dave through the PesterChum app on your phone.

__**ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]**

EB: get it off of my computer.

TG: i have no idea what youre talking about

EB: its proboscis is staring into my soul, dave. 

TG: you should talk about that with your doctor

TG: especially if it lasts more than eight hours 

TG: these things are perfectly normal johnny boy

TG: you can get a sailboat to make things all better like that guy in the commercial

TG: he seems happy

TG: except his penis is broken

EB: i will break your penis if you don't take the puppet off of my computer, dave.

TG: damn egbert you are always so pervy

EB: dave!

TG: but he likes you

EB: no. this is not a thing that is happening, dave.

TG: you are breaking his heart

EB: his heart will go on.

TG: but leonardo dicaprio is still lost at sea searching for his oscar

EB: ouch! harsh burn duuuuuuuude!

TG: i hope to god that was an ironic dude because otherwise you are dead to me

EB: pick up the damn puppet.

TG: what if i burnt my hands beyond repair and you are just rubbing salt into what is already a traumatizing and horrible experience for me??

EB: did you?

TG: did i what

EB: did you burn your hands on some sick fires?

TG: oh hell no

TG: sick fires

TG: you know serket

EB: vriska? how do you know her?

TG: i play gigs at spinnerette on occasion

TG: what about you???

EB: she's an ex-girlfriend of mine.

TG: how are you not dead

EB: what?

TG: ive imagined serket stabbing anyone she sleeps with yet you are magically in one piece

EB: nah, though her roommate tried to kill me once.

TG: tz tried to kill you?? did you make fun of the dragons or something

TG: if you dissed the dragons you deserved it

EB: hell if i know.

TG: well congratulations are in order for our relationship surviving the awkward exes conversation

EB: we aren't dating, dave.

TG: what am I gonna do with these goddamn wedding plans then???

EB: as pretty as you might look in a dress, i don't date assholes who leave puppets on my computer.

TG: so if i take the puppet back youre officially dating me

EB: i'm pretty sure that isn't how it works.

TG: it already has

_**turntechGodhead [TG] has become an idle chum** _

You hear a bang, and when you look up the door is slammed shut. Once you direct your gaze to your laptop you notice the puppet is gone. Worse still, you feel uncomfortably okay with this turn of events.  
"Shit."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is Dave Strider and you are wondering if Terezi would be willing to act as your attorney if you kill your sister. She stares you down from across the table, sipping her martini across the dining room table with an infuriating smirk plastered across her face. Hell, you should have done so as soon as she made you buy a dining room table. Kanaya, her girlfriend, might be able to escape with her life.

"So, Dave, tell me about John."  
Kanaya must die as well, you decide. She flashes an apologetic smile, and you try to figure out whether or not Rose put her up to asking about your neighbor. You suppose the question does sound more amicable in the faint British accent she has never managed to drop, as compared to your sister's harsh, sarcastic tones. Still, it is not nearly enough to make you talk about anything that may lead to Rose bringing out her detailed journal of your apparent homoeroticism throughout the years. You decide to shut this party down before it can begin.

"He's my dorky neighbor who watches me get down and dirty on the rooftop when he isn't working on his degree."  
You nailed it. There was absolutely no sexual subtext in that sentence whatsoever, you're sure. You resist the urge to stab your tongue with the fork that sits next to your untouched meal.

Kanaya coughs on whatever neon drink she'd been downing, eyes widening. Rose pats her on the back before returning her attention to you. Only the vaguest twitch of her lips betrays her amusement, and you feel the sudden urge to duck below the table and hide beneath the strategic pile of puppet ass you assembled in advance.  
"So, he watches you work out? Ah, I see you have found a fine match who does not match the criteria for a stalker at all," Rose drawls. Kanaya flushes and does her best to pretend she had not been thinking of dirtier scenarios.

"Sis, you know the innocent masses can't help it. They see my body and become slaves to their primal urges. They aren't even primal urges of the generic sort, being so prime that they star in movies with Shia LeBouf and gigantic yellow cars."

You would continue, but you are put off by the fact that Rose has brought out her knitting. Even Kanaya appears to have grown bored of your awesome analogies by now. You are definitely not going to pout about this.

You snap your fingers instead. Rose looks up from her needles and sighs. "Yes, yes, we've covered your love of robotic phallus before, Dave. I'm just happy you found someone who does not seem to be nearly as self destructive as you are, for once."  
You splutter. "I haven't found anyone!"

Kanaya and Rose laugh among themselves, and once again you find yourself thinking that bi-monthly dinners are horrible creations, and whoever first thought they brought families together was insane.


	2. Headaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I pranked you while I was drunk?”

Your name is John Egbert, and you are drunk off your ass. "No, Dave, I just think that if I did have a jet pack, I would use it for good." Determined, you poke a finger into your neighbor's chest. "I would fly off a roof, and it would make a pchoooo noise, and then you would swoon like a maiden at my sheer awesomeabili- awesomeosit- awesomeness."

Dave smirks back at you and leans into the bar. You're not sure how far gone he is, but his elbow is beginning to skid across into the bartender. Besides, he's been trying to order every single oddly named shot on the menu, just to prove a point. Still, he hasn't slurred once.

"Egbert, you are going to ruin your liver at this rate," Dave observes as you both down shots of 'Buttery Nipple' at his prompting. "My maidenly sensibilities cannot handle it. I feel weak kneed, and I have misplaced my fan. Oh deary me, where is my handkerchief? I just cannot help but succumb to your wily plan to ruin both of our livelihoods by way of social lubricant."

You stick your tongue out at him. "I am in college, Dave. I can outdrink the best of them. I am a student, hear me roar!" You proceed to contort your mouth and curl your fingers in such a manner that you are absolutely sure you look like a dragon. That or a lion, you decide. Hell, why choose between the two? You'll be a motherfucking griffin, and everyone will be jealous.

It isn't until you notice Dave is laughing into his sleeve that you realise you said all that out loud. You flush.  
"I would be an awesome griffin!" Dave attempts to regain his pokerface and fails miserably.  
"If you're a griffin, what would I be," he muses. "A crow?"

You roll your eyes. "You'd be one of those things," you wave you hand vaguely in the air, "not an angel but a... Something."  
Dave quirks an eyebrow and plays with his shot glass, attempting and failing to flip it over on the table. He frowns at it as if it has betrayed him. The bartender gives you both exasperated looks.

"Well, John, I'm glad to hear you think I'm something." He drags the word out, and there should be no way on earth that anyone should be able to roll an um sound like that, but he does. Shit, you are too drunk for this.

"Dave," you whine, because you feel a headache rolling in, and he seems to be close to ordering another round. He sighs, looks at you, and shakes his head. For a moment, you are furious. How dare he hide his eyes with his shades! You want to know what he's thinking, and you want to know now!  
Obviously, the most logical conclusion is to rig a water bucket over his door tomorrow morning. For now, however, you watch as he waves over the bartender and pulls out his wallet.

"Hey, I can pay," you offer. Dave waves a hand. "Maidenly virtue, remember? I cannot accept help from a passing griffin. Unladylike, you know." The bartender looks unimpressed with Dave's babbling. You think he may have given up ever understanding your neighbor by now.

"So, walking home I guess?"  
"Unless you can fly us, Sir Griffin."  
"Shush, no one else can know of my seque- doub- secret identity."  
Dave laughs, and for a moment, you feel like you've known him for years.  
"Okay, seriously, how drunk at we?" Dave thinks about it. "Can I count on my fingers to figure it out?"  
"That's what I thought," you groan. It's going to be a long walk home, even if it is only two blocks away.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is Dave Strider and you feel like shit this morning. Slowly, you peek out of the nest of blankets you formed around yourself, and find that said nest is in the bathroom. Aforementioned bathroom only has the barest light filtering through it- for which you are greatful- and smells of bodily fluids. Fearing the worst, you peek into the cavernous ceramic crap chasm, only to quickly withdraw your head and gag on your own tongue. You forgot to flush your vomit last night. Go figure.  
You stand up as slowly as possible, inching your way into a vertical position body part by body part. You spread your arms, trying to balance so that you don't fall over on your face. You are a tree, you think in your dazed state.

Your first order of business as a newly christened tree is to flush away the offensive substance in your toilet. You still feel nauseated due to the hangover from hell, so you use your foot to flush the vomit down. Hell yes.

Second order of business: check on John.

You slide out your phone and wince at the brightness setting. You need to tone that down faster than an amp at midnight. You change your mind; the second order of business is to try to change your phone's brightness from 'portal to hell' to 'at least it's not the sun'.

Once that has been accomplished, you are ready to check on Egbert. To your surprise, it looks like he already tried to do the same to you.

_**ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]** _

EB: i remembered what it was.

EB: you're a harpy.

EB: now eeq can fly together.

EB: *we

_**ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]** _

Okay, you have no clue what that was about. You file this away as evidence that John tried to contact you while he was still floating in liquor land.

_**turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]** _

TG: you okay there john???

TG: or are you passed out

TG: youre still passed out

TG: i can feel it with my john is being a dork senses

TG: im like a useless spiderman

TG: my johnny senses are tingling

EB: no, shut up.

TG: no what

EB: i am awake.

EB: now let me go back to not being awake.

TG: but you just got here

EB: i cant hear you. i'm asleep. 

TG: can you at least tell me what you meant when you said i was a harpy???

EB: no, but it probably has something to do with you harping at me right now.

TG: ouch message received

TG: toodles

_**turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB]** _

You put your phone down, chuckling, and open your bathroom door. Shielding your eyes, you step out. The next moment, you are covered in water. An upturned bucket lies at your feet. "Goddammit, John!"

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is John Egbert, and you were not expecting a sopping wet Dave Strider to barge into your apartment with all the grace of a drowned cat, a bucket in hand.  
"What do you have to say for yourself," he hisses, obviously just as sensitive to loud noises as you are at the moment. You stare at him in confusion before looking back at your couch. You absolutely did not release a low whine, no matter how much you want to go back to being unconscious. 

“I have no idea what you mean, Dave,” you enthuse as softly as possible. Dave snorts and pushes his shades higher up on his nose. They seem to be the only things on him that are not covered in water. He hefts the bucket and plops it on the ground.  
“Hey, that's my bucket!”

Dave shakes his head. “No dip, Egbert. In fact, there is not even guacamole to be found here. The sour cream and onion has long passed its expiration date. There is not even a quark to be found that could be used in the creation of an atomic particle of dip now.” You blink at him.  
“What?”

“I know it's your bucket because it spilt water over my head as soon as I left the bathroom this morning, asshole!” You cock your head before a grin slides over your face. A vague memory slides into place, and you can't help but chuckle. “I pranked you while I was drunk?”  
Your laughs start increasing, and though they do nothing to alleviate your headache, you are much more horrified by your subsequent snorting. You look up to see Dave laughing at you. 

“I didn't sn-”

“Yes, you did.”

You flip him the bird, and he begins to chuckle as well. You're about to make a remark about him actually showing emotion which is sure to knock his socks off, but then-  
"John Egbert, you insufferable pin up upon which lesser nerds look upon, salivating in sheer adoration over how you manage to trip over your own feet in such a graceless fashion, you better have a good reason as to why you contributed to the acidic buildup in our already sub par plumbing!"

Apparently Karkat heard you vomiting last night. He cares so much.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is Dave Strider, and you were on your way to a better mood before John's friend Karkrank started yelling at the both of you. Luckily he stopped as soon as John told him, wincing, that you both had raging hangovers, so maybe the guy isn't too bad after all.

“All I am saying is that if you had a modicum of respect for your field of research and the asshatted word vomit that you manage to cough onto a page and label a thesis statement, then maybe you might not indulge in enough alcohol to churn acid out of your stomach and into the pipes that carry much needed water to the rest of us lowly souls who most need that very same alcohol to rinse the taste of book binding glue and abject horror from our fucking tongues!”

Your impression of Karkittle is revised from short and shouty to short and verbose. You muse that you could probably record him ranting and turn it into a top forty hit within two hours. 

“Calm down, Karcrazy,” you sigh, running a hand through your damp hair. “John will get right back to his work as soon as I finish stealing his towels.” With that, you turn to John's bathroom. 

“Hey,if you haven't been here before, Dave, how do you know where my restroom is?”

Oh God, he does not have to sound so smug about that. You will give him such a noogie once Karcannon is gone.  
You hear Karcarp splutter behind you. “Who is this douche-flagon anyway?” 

You think you hear a smile in John's tone when he answers, “that, Karkat, is Dave.”  
Yeah. That's about as much introduction as you need, you think. For now, at least.

You are definitely not picturing different introductions that tie you to John. Not at all.


	3. Weathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please tell me you guys are the type of hipsters that watch action films ironically, and I don't have to watch some artsy film with a man in a bunny suit or some shit like that."

Your name is Dave Strider and you are sitting on John's carpet, having a movie night. You remark loudly to both Karkat and John that you did not agree to let them choose the movies in question, and are answered with popcorn thrown in your face. "So, Karaoke," you venture, congratulating yourself for continuing to think of alternative names for your loud neighbor, "what movie did you pick?"

John groans and attempts to bury his face in the popcorn. "That is fucking unsanitary, John Egbert. Get your greasy hipster glasses out of that poor popcorn before it is traumatized for the rest of its natural, buttery life." Before you can elaborate on the years of therapy the popped corn must now endure, John pops back up to rap you on the head with his knuckles. You most certainly do not squawk, no matter what the other two may claim.

John shakes his head. "You don't understand, Dave. Karkat doesn't just say the name of the movie; no, that would be too easy. Instead, he composes a summary of the entire film and barfs it out." 

Karkat gives him an offended look. "Look, you assaholic nutbeast grinder, I am exercising my creativity and giving it a positive channel for release, unlike your negative sluice of muddied sewage with which wool beasts wash their crusted feces."

You look at John pleadingly, before remembering he can't see your eyes through your shades. "Please tell me you guys are the type of hipsters that watch action films ironically, and I don't have to watch some artsy film with a man in a bunny suit or some shit like that." John rolls his eyes and tosses another piece of popcorn at your head. You try not to resent the fact that John has commandeered most of the snacks, and Karkat has his own lunchbox; albeit a freaky, electronic lunchbox. "No matter what you may think, Dave, I am not a hipster." Karkat snorts, narrowing his eyes at John until they are green slits, his dark lashes coming down like a curtain. "Sure. That's why you have indie style, new age piano remixes and coffee maker sounds pouring out of your room at all hours like a goddamn twenty four hour Vesuvius that traffics anti-corporate cacophony." You yawn.

"See, John? Even Krakatoa recognizes your hipster heritage." John sniffs at you before standing up. "This is my apartment, you jerks, so when I get back you had better be nicer." You and Karkat both snicker as John heads for the bathroom, tripping over at least three pairs of shoes as he goes. Karkat rolls his eyes at you as you tilt your head to get a better look as John walks away.

"Way to be completely subtle, Dave. I'm sure that at least two people hiding in crevices somewhere in Siberia have yet to notice your salivation."  
Shit. You turn to Karkat and shrug. If he's already noticed, there isn't any reason to try to play it off. "He's dorky, but he's hot." Maybe if you make it seem like it's only physical attraction, Karkat won't decide you're a total freak and tell John to stay far away from the crazy neighbor who has a crush on him.

Karkat gives you a look that might be sympathetic. Fuck, you think you'd prefer him thinking you're crazy. "Of course, you're not so bad yourself." He wasn't, either. Olive skin, freckles, dark hair, and light eyes came together to form attractive features. If Karkat wasn't such an asshole, he'd be hot.

"Yeah, my girlfriend agrees with you," Karkat drawled. "However, you should know that John is the epitome of oblivion. If you want him to figure out anything, you need a flow chart, several diagrams, and a concise abstract on the subject. Maggot infested fruit is more aware of others than he is! You could literally shove a bleating horn beast out of a window, and he would not know that you did so until you pointed it out! He is a nattering imbecile with the jocundity of a rabid clown! He-" you cover his mouth with your hand.  
"Kitkat, I get the point. Now, can you tell me what movie we're watching?"

Karkat's eyes light up, and he begins to babble even more furiously once you remove your hand. "Wherein a male lead is dissatisfied with the fact that his entire life has been planned out before him, causing him to volunteer for a different occupation than he had planned, leading to an accidental escapade to a world he has never before seen and the realization that his society has been taken advantage of; a rival challenges the lead for the love of a female; several characters are inclined to share the same color scheme; one is the main character-" You stop him. 

"Holy shit, John wasn't kidding. You really do do that."

Karkat grumbles and shoves a fistful of popcorn in his mouth. "Shut up."

You ruffle his hair, and John stumbles out of the bathroom just as Karkat squeaks indignantly.

"Okay, do I need to separate you two?" You feel your lips curl into a smile. "Mom! I was playing nice!"  
Karkat makes as if to leap at your throat, but John raps him on the head sternly. "Nice," he commands. With that he flops onto the couch. You and Karkat turn around in unison, as quick as you can while you're sitting down. "How come you get the couch," you complain.

John waves a finger in the air. "My apartment- my rules." Karkat shrugs and picks up the remote.  
"I'm ready to start movie night, you devolving, amphibious phalluses," he claims as he skips to the title screen. You stare in confusion as John shoots upright within moments.  
"Fuck, Karkat, not Bee Movie again!"

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

"John, wake up." Your name is John Egbert, and someone is going to die if they don't stop hitting you with things. You swing your fist out and catch something hard. "Ow!" You smile in your daze. At least you hurt the fiend.

"Not funny, Egderp," you hear a familiar voice grumble. "I'm only in here because you have a paper due. You should know this by now, it's nothing new."  
You yelp and sit up as quickly as you can. "I'm late!" Dave scowls beside you, sitting in your revolving chair.

"No shit, Sherlock! I was trying to-"

You cut him off by jumping to the closet, wailing,"why didn't you wake me up sooner?" As you turn to face him, his expression changes from irritated to a vulcan's impression of fury. "How is this my fault?"  
You deflate. "It isn't. I know you were going way beyond protocol in waking me up. Wait," you squint at him, "never mind. You're the reason I didn't get any sleep in the first place. Why am I apologizing?"

Dave huffs at you. "Because you yelled at me for being nicer than a kindly grandma in waking you up at a later time than you would prefer, your highness. Excuse me, I shall take my mother hen tendencies far away, where they will be appreciated. My chicks will find me a worthwhile and adoring mother, and they will sit at my feet and ask me what they ever did to deserve me. In fact-"

"Oh my god, I apologized. What do you want, an award?" You roll your eyes. Dave pouts at you. "No, I need a hug for my emotional trauma."  
"I'm not a therapist, but I don't think that is how one recovers from alleged trauma."

"You are cruel and unusual."

You finally find the shirt and pants you were looking for, and so you toss them on your bed before attempting to shove Dave out the door. "Out! I must preserve some shred of my innocence."  
Dave sticks his tongue out at you. "What if I want your innocence," he whines as you shove him out the door. "Whatever, you haven't even bought me dinner yet, asshole."  
Before closing the door you singsong, "and neither shots nor popcorn count!"

There, now that that's taken care of, it's time for you to get dressed.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is Dave Strider, and you aren't sure, but you think that might have been an invitation to invite John out to eat. Maybe. You scratch your head before remembering something vital to your miniature war with John. "Karkat kept you up too!" You frown at the door as John refuses to respond. Whatever, you'll get him back for this eventually.  
With deliberate steps you cross back to the living room; Karkat lies splayed across the floor, a blanket wrapped around his torso. There are several depictions of penises on his cheeks. You doubt he has discovered them yet.

You stretch. It feels weird to not be training. A glance out the window informs you that clouds are moving in your direction, but you might be able to fit in a work out before a storm can hit.  
You decide that if Karkat is asleep and John is going to school, you might as well creep out and get some exercise in before you get ready for your gig tonight. You look around, searching for a pen and a piece of paper to tell John that you're blowing this popsicle stand.

Finally, you spot a notepad on top of the fridge- why is it there anyway? You shrug it off and reach for the pad. You feel your shirt riding up, and you once again curse the day your bro neglected to teach you how to neglect shrinking clothes in the wash. You hear an awkward chuckle behind you, and you come to the realization that pulling on pants and a shirt doesn't take long at all.

"I swear I wasn't stealing your notebook; I was just trying to leave a note before I left," you say. Thinking, you add, "besides, if I stole it, I'd pull a total Indiana Jones and replace it with a brick or something." Strangely enough, he seems to be staring past you, and rather fixedly at that.

"Are you okay, John," you inquire, crossing over to rap him on the head, soft enough that it's more of a ruffle of his hair. He jerks back, and you eye him, concerned.  
"Yeah, Dave, I think I caught a cold or something from another student, so you should probably stand farther away to keep from getting sick," he hedges. You snort.

"You drooled on me last night, Egderp, I think I'm already doomed. I am so reconciled to my fate that I am clutching a medal in my hand as I set myself alight, allowing my friend to live his dreams."

John stares at you, jaw agape, and you fidget a bit. Maybe you pushed that analogy a little bit past the usual frame of knowledge. How may people could recognize an allusion to-

"Did you just reference Gattaca," John squeaks. You nearly smile. God bless movie nerds. You cock your head at him. "What else would I be talking about? There are only so many movies about DNA fraud and epic bromances to choose from." John shakes his head, releasing laughs that sound like the lovechildren of snorts and wheezes.

You shake your head. You do not get him at all. "Okay, I'm off to get sweaty. Remember: don't turn in that rough draft that has the passage about rubbing your Professor's butt, if Karkat asks, his movie about bees magically disappeared, and I am disappointed with your lack of apple juice. Kay, thanks, bye."  
With that, you turn on your heel and exit the apartment.

"You mentioned the apple juice last night," John calls after you. You roll your eyes behind your shades. "It's a lot of disappointment!"

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is John Egbert and your friend is not supposed to be hot. You see him exercising every day for chrissakes, and yet his shirt riding up catches your attention. This you could have dealt with, except for the fact that he added a film reference on top of that. You groan, remembering the scene as you pull to a stop at an intersection.

The woman in a purple Subaru beside you is shooting you concerned glances as you thump your head against the head rest. You don't know how to deal with this new development. Every relationship you have ever attempted was instigated by the other party. Besides that, Dave is your friend. He probably trusts that your bromance will flourish into a beautiful platonic brother-ship. Hell, he feels comfortable enough with you that he makes stupid comments about you being married.

Obviously, this whole attraction thing was a one time fluke, and you can overcome it through the power of friendship. If you've managed to see him working out half naked on a roof before without thinking of anything but your ruined innocence, you're sure you can return to that state.

Purple Subaru woman probably agrees with you, judging by the way she's urging you onwards. You then realize that she just wants you to go already. Still, it's nice to think you have support.  
You spend the rest of the ride in relative silence, but then your phone rings as you pull into the parking lot nearest to your lecture hall.

"Jade?" Your cousin is shouting in your ear, and you can't make out a thing until, "I can't even find my lunchtop prototype!" You nod before realizing she can't see you, and respond with, "um, I'm sure it'll turn up eventually?" Jade sighs, and you can practically hear the sound of her teeth grinding into her lip. You both have a habit of chewing on the inside of your cheeks and biting your lips. You remember a time when you were little and you would stretch your lips so that they cracked open. You reflect on that and decide you were a little bit messed up.

"John, you don't understand. I'm working with highly unstable compounds here! If I were to lose this prototype, I might lose my grant with it!" You rub your temple. "Where did you see it last? Did you leave it somewhere?" You hear Jade hissing through her teeth. "That's what I was asking about! Is it at your apartment, maybe?"

You grab your folder and head inside, phone still pressed to your ear, "I promise I'll check, but I have to turn in a paper. I'll call you right back," you whisper hurriedly before ending the call. 

You wince. That is going to bite you in the butt soon. You smile blandly at your professor as he graces you with an unimpressed look. You think you hear it beginning to rain outside. This is not a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a scale from one to ten, how pissed at me would you guys be if I took on another JohnDave project that may or may not be based on the Swan Princess?
> 
> Oh, and I'm sorry that I keep giving you an inordinate amount of Dave and not a whole lot of John. I think it's because Dave talks so damn much and thinks even more. 
> 
> ((It might also be because he's fun to write but whatever.))


	4. Booty Popping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your name is Dave Strider and you cannot believe that Nepeta is trying to teach John how to twerk."

Your name is Dave strider, and your hair is dripping wet by the time you decide to finish your workout. You squint through your shades, attempting to locate the door so that you can escape the rain, but the sinister drops of water have effectively turned your aviators into a serious detriment to your vision. Sighing, you pull down the sunglasses until you can peer over them. Yes, that large box that you were attempting to enter was indeed the air conditioner after all. Who would've thunk it?

You turn around and catch the door in your sight line immediately. You could almost dance a jig. You won't, however, because you are certainly too cool to do so. Well, that, and you are probably the picture of an iconic- and therefore ironic as fuck- action movie hero right now.

At least, that's what you think until you hear John screeching about his "innocent eyes" at you from his window.  
"That's right Egbert," you call, "your brain shall never be free of my magnificent visage again! It shall forever be enslaved to the noble house of Ogle Mine Washboard, a worthy fate for such perverted slugabouts as thee! Begone, foul rancorous whelp, for I, Strid-"

"Dave, Dave, he's a dirty knave! He fell into a sewer and then straight into his grave!"

You feel your face contort into a shocked, bemused expression. "What the hell, John?"

"You were playing pretend, so I figured I'd speak your language."  
You stare at him, schooling your face into your usual deadpan. You used to be good at keeping up an absence of expression. What is it about John, anyway? You shouldn't want to smile at him for making up a twisted nursery rhyme. You need to start dating again, you decide. It's probably just UST, no matter what Karkat might think.

"I'm not five, John." He grins deviously at you. "You so are. Your maladroit tendencies betray you."

"Ooh! Johnny boy has a tongue on him, eh? I like it." You throw a salacious leer his way before sauntering off. You need to find a towel, after all, and you should always leave your audience wanting more. Besides, you have a gig tonight. There might even be someone there who is actually interested in your fine ass. Speaking of which...

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is John Egbert, and you cannot believe that Strider had the nerve to pop his godforsaken booty before clambering down to his apartment. You shake your head. You honestly have no idea what to do with him, despite a small part of your mind that is quite vocal in its contrary opinions that claim you know damn well what sort of things you should do to him. With him, you mean. You take it back, you want to do absolutely nothing.

You frown and latch the window closed against the rain. Those are not the kind of thoughts that belong in your head. Determined, you turn back to your apartment; you then promptly trip over a sock. You wish you could say that happens less often than it actually does. Your room is brimming with shit that could fit in its drawers with relative ease. Why anyone would keep things in drawers for longer than five seconds is a mystery to you, however. Things deserve to be messed with.

Your computer is blinking at you from your desk, bespeaking your doom in the form of waves of angry code. You yawn at it. This is nothing new, after all. You should have learnt not to fiddle with programming by now, but Jade usually helps you out of your binds.You wince, thinking about Jade. She must be really pissed by now.

Shuddering, you remember last time she was angry at you. You thought her pet dog was going to kill you. You rub your neck and grimace just thinking about it.

You initiate a halfhearted search for her lunchbox, but you doubt it's in your apartment. After all, you have always been more inclined towards lunch bags, as lunch boxes are easily lost. You snort. How right you are proven, now that even Jade has lost hers.

You feel a sudden rush of nostalgia as you remember your father's lunch related tricks and gambits, such as the exploding whip cream, the plastic pizza plot, the gelatin gambit, and the bread switcharoo. You make a note to call him, but you will avoid the topic of food as best you can.

There is still a towering cake lodged in your fridge that is left over from your birthday, and that was a month ago. It is probably still edible by the standards of most, judging by its origins as a box of Betty Crocker cake mix. You have no idea how, but those mixes endow desserts with the longevity of radioactive twinkies.

Shuffling several cards you pick up from your desk, you try to assemble your thoughts into a coherent pattern or process that you can actually follow; however, you don't quite come up to snuff. You suppose it's because you're so tired, and the sound of rain cascading by your window is enough to convince you that a nap might be a good idea.

Just as you settle down on your bed, you hear a loud overture pour forth from the kitchen. It's your phone, you realize, still sitting on the counter from when you got home. Unwilling to move, you decide that Jade can't be any more pissed at you than she already is and that anyone else can wait. You ignore it. It's time for you to catch your forty winks.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

TG: im not sure if i told you but im playing a gig tonight at serkets place 

TG: gonna swing by victorias serket 

TG: spiders all up in that bra 

TG: i just grossed myself out 

TG: stop me next time asshole 

TG: anyway if you and captain kirkat want to swing by i swear itll be more fun than chilling around listening to me playing with tracks and flangers sounds 

TG: actually i take that back it sounds fucking awesome 

TG: because it literally sounds awesome 

TG: as in the sound flows your head like an angel on ecstasy 

TG: im so fly that my beats make you dizzy 

TG: hold onto your breath because my tables are aflame 

TG: wrapped around my finger no audience members the same 

TG: time means nothing as you move to my sick beats 

TG: against the sound of strider everyone admits defeat 

TG: anyway just show up at spinnerette if you want to 

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

Your name is Dave Strider and you keep looking down at the messages you sent to John four hours ago. Currently, you're setting everything in place for your gig. Terezi and Vriska sit across the room from you, chatting about something that you should probably give more of a shit about than you actually do. After all, Vriska was the one who had hired a college student for a DJ at TZ's urging.

She wasn't obligated to give you the time of day, and yet she was the reason behind your big break. Well, big being a relative term. At least the sales are increasing on ITunes whenever you release a new track or mix. Your name is getting out there.

For some reason, however, as you set some last minute configurations and check the sound, you keep glancing towards your phone. It seems like you suddenly care far too much about whether John will show up tonight. You really need to get laid.  
You shake your head at yourself, prompting Vriska to eye you bemusedly.  
"Having trouble, hotshot?"

You roll your eyes behind your shades. "Why yes, m'lady, I appear to be having a bit of a spider problem in my kingdom, and nothing I do will get rid of it. I have requested aid from the knights of whogiveth'afuck, climbed the tallest mountains in order to find insecticide shat from the golden, rotund buttocks of the gods, and set fire to the blessed rain, yet the spider remains a pestilence upon my land." You heave a dramatic sigh. Simply because you owe her a few doesn't mean you won't antagonize the venomous vixen, after all.

Her mouth quirks into a smirk, drawing her sharp teeth against her lips. "Just make sure that after you've broken your wrists- once you've fallen off your mule in full armor for the eight time- that you'll be able to work a set up with your teeth." It always freaks you out when she says that shit as if it will actually happen, especially when you're just kidding around. You know for a fact that the closest thing to psychic ability she has is a collection of magic eight balls; however, it's still unnerving as all hell when you see her dark blue eyes glint at you behind her glasses, her clipped voice stating that your only contingency plan is to use your own face to mix tracks.

Yeah, you're not sure what TZ sees in her at this point. Maybe she's in it for the money. As you watch the two make threats towards each other, off in a world of their own devising, you notice that they appear to be having fun with their mutual hatred-love. You still have no idea how that works out, so you return to your epic battle with technology, blatantly ignoring the way your eyes keep slipping towards the phone and all of its goddamned implications.

Your name is John Egbert and you think Vriska's mock-casino-turned-nightclub is just as loud and full of people now as it was when you first met her. However, there are distinct changes in the atmosphere of the place; it's obvious from the way the semi transparent backs of the chairs now light up like iridescent webs, catching the drunk, lonely, and gambling prone, to the way the music feels. The pianist in you is analyzing the layers, chords, and tonality; however, the rest of your mind appears to be blissed out on the crests and troughs of sheer, unadulterated, good music. You fumble for words to describe it, and can only alight on enticing and hypnotic. It occurs to you that those are really lame adjectives that you could probably read off the back of a young adult novel, but right now you don't care. Maybe it was worth getting out of bed after all.

You had awoken only forty-five minutes previous, having been jarred into consciousness by staccato rapping on your door. As soon as you opened your door, eyes at half mast, Jade had lunged through the doorway.

"Jonathan Egbert," she bit out, "your father raised you better than to ignore me, and act like a total jerk on top of that! Not only did you hang up on me, you wouldn't even answer your phone when I tried calling you. I started to actually get worried about you, idiot!" She frowned at you, biting her lip.

You winced. You hated making Jade angry. That was usually Karkat's field of expertise, but you could see him eyeing you with a smug twist to his lips behind her. If this was his payback for the dicks you drew on his face, you were fairly certain that Dave deserved it more than you did.

"I'm sorry Jade, I really had to turn in this paper I had due, and I fell asleep as soon as I got home." Jade deflated and delivered a gentle smack to your head, a tired smile returning to her face. Having to deal with the pressure of college meant that she understood student life's drawbacks.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you, John. I've been really stressed, and-" she cut off abruptly, staring past you and into your kitchen. "John, is that my lunchtop?" You turned to look behind you, and you only had time to think, "oh shit," before your cousin was yelling at you once more.

"I trusted you! You said that you hadn't seen it, and you know how much this grant means to me. Why would you lie to me?" Jade paused for a deep breath, then sighed, "look, I'm just disappointed that you either knew it was here and lied to me about it, or didn't care enough to search for it. It hurts to think that you would-"

"Jade," Karkat interrupted, shifting uncomfortably. Jade frowned at him. You hoped he was going to do or say something to save your ass right then, because a disappointed Jade is eighty times worse than an angry Jade.  
"Karkat, I am trying to impress upon Jonathan that lying to his cousin and-slash-or not bothering to put forth any effort on her behalf are very bad things." Jade squinted at you both, pasting on what you privately referred to as her babysitter face. You thought to yourself that it was a good thing she had found her prototype, because her mood was lighter than it would be otherwise. Then again, you probably wouldn't be in so much trouble now.

Karkat shuffled his feet, curling his hands into the fabric of his candy apple coloured jacket. "Jade, I think this is my fault," he started, grimacing. "I packed my snack in the first bag I saw yesterday. It was movie night with the guys and..." He trailed off as Jade cocked her head at him.

"Karkat," she began in a thoughtful tone, "have you listened to a single word I said on the subject of how my research grant and scholarship both hinged on my ability to take extremely sensitive materials, modify them, fit a great deal of hardware into a mobile, compact component, and make as few mistakes as possible while doing so? Then, perhaps, you might have tuned in and heard me mention my plans to utilize a lunchbox for these purposes. You might have even cared when I showed you the prototype I was working on." She blinked at Karkat with abnormally wide eyes, as if she were looking at fireworks going off, or waves stopping mid-tide. "Because, well, that seems like something one would do if they cared a jot about their girlfriend, fuckass!" With that, Jade breezed into your kitchen and plucked the lunchbox thingy from your counter.

Karkat groaned, running his left hand through his hair. "Okay, I realize that my actions could be construed as being so asinine that the lord regent of douchebaggins would scoff and fart his disapproval in my general direction, but in my defense, you didn't tell me what you were looking for. Plus, you have around ninety food storage containers. How was I supposed to know which one I was not allowed to touch?"

Jade squinted at him. "Karkat, it projects images into midair, and it has typing capability."  
"It still holds food."

Jade snorted, ignoring him. She then paused as she picked the lunchbox up, casting her gaze over your abandoned phone, directly adjacent to the device. "John, how did you miss this when it was right next to your phone?" She sounded more curious than anything. You shrug nervously.

"I wasn't really paying attention. Like I said, I came straight home and fell asleep." Jade hummed, picking up your phone and unlocking it in one smooth motion. You bit your lip as her brow wrinkled. Suddenly, she burst out laughing, and both you and Karkat jumped like a gun went off.

Jade grinned at you and wiggled your phone at you. "Okay kiddos, you're going to make things right by buying me alcoholic drinks tonight, and then you'll be accompanying me when I go to buy some supplies for my hydroponics this weekend. Does that seem fair to you?" She grinned as she placed her hands on her hips, daring you to claim otherwise.

"Gosh, Jade, I don't know! Don't you have to work on your lunchbox?" You didn't think you were in the best state to flit around and deal with the night crowd.  
Jade frowned at you. "No, my main problem was that my lunchtop wasn't, y'know, in my hands! Or, well, in my workshop. Or any place it was supposed to be." She grinned, reaching out to ruffle your hair. "Okay, so if that was your only problem, everything should be set. What about you, Karkat?"

Karkat grumbled for a moment. "How  
much sod am I going to end up hauling on Saturday?" Jade laughed, grinning the way she always did when she was given the chance to talk about her plants. "None. I said hydroponics, remember? That means we get to haul rockwool!" You begin to chuckle, imagining sheep made out of stone. Jade beamed at you.

"See? John's got the right attitude! It'll be fun!" Karkat squinted at you, and you had a feeling you'd be feeling some of his wrath later. You forced yourself not to grimace. You would much rather do things that were fun, like watch Matthew Mcconaughey save the world, than do something like hang out at a bar. Despite what you told Dave, you've never been the partying type, and your hangover from your night on the town is still vivid in your memories.

"Sounds great, Jade."

Half an hour and an outfit change later brought you to this moment, wherein you are gaping open mouthed at the sight before you. Your neighbor, Dave Strider, stands behind what seems to be a tangle of electrical equipment. Lips pressed closed, his face might look impassable to those around you, but you can tell by the way he's cocked his head and relaxed his shoulders that he's enjoying himself. Sweat is beading along his brow, and you see him flick his gaze across the club. He scans the room for a moment before catching you.

You can tell when he spots you, because his head jerks back for a moment. A lazy grin starts to steal its way across his face, before being chased off by his need to layer another track into the music. For a moment, you gape. Across the floor, you can see Jade talking with a pretty, petite blonde woman. As if walking through water, you slosh your way over to them.

"So, this novel is going to be about how people tend to grow secure in the fact that they excel in their fields?" Jade bites her lip, eyes widening in interest. The lady rests her head on her shoulder, thinking. You notice she has rather stunning violet eyes. You want to tear your cousin away to talk, but you were brought up properly. "It's not so much about those who are overconfident in their own skills, but rather that anyone can challenge them at any time, regardless of motive. The entire book is meant to be an ambiguous chessboard of a battle. Who is good? Who is evil? What forms or portrays them to act in such a manner? It is all a matter of perspective, and the real villain can only be unveiled by the reader." You have no idea what she just said, but it sounded deep.

"That sounds amazing! I hope you get it published soon!" Jade grins at the young woman and a flush spreads throughout her face. "Oh, John, this is my new friend, Rose Lalonde." You stretch your arm out to take her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Rose." You aren't sure if it's the lighting or not, but a mischievous expression appears to cross her face for a moment. It's gone in an instant, however, so you feel you must have imagined it.

"John," Rose rolls out your name. "Now where have I heard that name before?" Before you can help yourself, you blurt out, "well, it's pretty common. Time lords, Disney movie protagonists, fifties songs, etcetera." You want to smash your face into a wall. Fortunately, Rose laughs. "Ah, and here I thought you were making a living producing adult films entitled The Big John, and localizing your inner city drug ring as you do so. My mistake, John." You gape at her, and both she and Jade begin to laugh. Gosh, you don't understand girls. "In all seriousness, John, I apologize for that remark. We've spoken through Pesterchum several times before, so I assumed you would take it as part of the humorous rapport that we have established thus far." You could slap yourself. "You're Dave's sister! I am so sorry, I thought you were a different Rose." She smiles and waves it away. "Don't sweat it."

"Oh, John, that reminds me, here's your phone," Jade interjects. She rummages around in her bag before flipping the phone into your hand. Nonchalantly, she smiles and informs you that, "oh, by the way, your friend wanted to know if you could come over here tonight. Apparently he's disk jockeying." Rose hides her mouth, but you can swear she's giggling under there.

You groan. "Jade! Is that why you wanted us to come?" She pouts at you. "John, you never tell me about your friends! You even got to meet Rose before me, apparently! We're supposed to be cousins, bosom buddies, squiddle squir-" You shush her. "I thought we agreed never to talk about the squiddle incident!" She waves a hand. "Anyway, I'm just glad to see you're making friends."

You splutter, but Jade has already redirected her attention to Rose. "So, you say you like dark, magical things? I have to tell you all about this temple that grandpa..." You walk off and neglect to hear the end of her sentence.

You suppose you could try dancing.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is Dave Strider and you cannot believe that Nepeta is trying to teach John how to twerk. You trusted her not to reveal the secrets of the universe to nerdy hipsters. Thankfully her phone rings, and the assembled club goers are not subjected to John shakin' and subsequently bakin' it. You have to admit that he's not horrible at dancing, and if he didn't have such an infatuation with the ground, he may even be passable. His face's relationship with the floor remains a tragic struggle, however. Every minute that passes is a minute in which John makes promises to meet the tile's cool embrace, only to pull back at the last possible second. Their story of love and loss almost rivals that of the couples around him that are trying and failing to execute bump and grind maneuvers.

It's a good thing your set is three seconds from being over. You aren't sure how long you could trust yourself to refrain from broadcasting a suitably snarky remark to the entire club otherwise. Speaking of which, it's time to make your announcement.

"Hey, it's DJ Strider. So, if your inebriated minds can interpret my words into something that is not in either Swedish or Hebrew- unless, of course, you can understand that better than English- I'm out of time. Please be gentle with the next DJ, as they probably don't enjoy rough behavior as much as I do." With that, you pack up your gear.

You feel a tug on your shirt. "Dave... Pst, Dave!" You feel your lips quirk up for a moment. "Hey, John," you drawl without turning around. You feel him start. "Okay, that's freaky. You're secretly blind, and you just have telepathy, right? There is no way you could tell who I was," John blathers. "A Wisconsin accent is pretty uncommon around here, John." You turn around, your shit finally together and ready to go.  
"Not true," John proclaims, a smug glint in his eyes. You immediately flick your gaze to a spot above his ear, because goddamn, those eyes are just-  
No, you meant to find someone attractive tonight; someone who wanted your booty. You were definitely not in the mood for some dork who agreed to date you by way of smuppet ass, and then treated it like you pulled a prank on them. Well, in retrospect, it did have some ironic undertones. Goddamn your habit of being inherently awesome. Before you're completely lost in your thought process however, you realize John is speaking again.  
"Karkat's from my hometown." You try not to let your mouth fall open. "So that's how you two know each other. I just figured that you watched all your neighbors get jiggy with it." John gaped at you. "Never say that again. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth."  
"Do you mean I should never insinuate that you like watching Karkat, or-" "You said get jiggy with it. I want you to eliminate jiggy from your vocabulary. Watch it fly away off into the sunset." You nod with all possible solemnity. "Thou hast slain the jiggy-wicket." John laughed.

"Yeah, I got quite enough of that when Karkat was my sex ed tutor."

The image of Karkat as a tutor is so laughable that you nearly cho- Wait, what?

You're about to question John about what exactly Karkat taught him, but he's looking away and pointing at something. "Look, there's Rose! I met her earlier," he explains. In the space of one moment, you realize three things. One, John knows you sister. Two, you don't really know John that well at all. Finally, it hits you that if there is any definitive hazard to being exceedingly attractive, it is that the entire universe wants to fuck you up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, okay, this chapter is twice as long as any of the other ones, and I still didn't get to the good parts. Oh well. Anyway, if you guys could give me some feedback on whether I should drop the "your name is John Egbert/Dave Strider" thing, that would be really helpful. 
> 
> Do you guys prefer it, or is it annoying?


	5. Sliced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Would a thirteen year old shopping for her first bra be embarrassed to buy a container for your friendship?"

Your name is John Egbert, and you can't believe Jade actually made you come to her hippie store to buy rockwool. "Jade, didn't you say Karkat had to help as well? Where is he?" Jade laughs for a moment.

"Karkat is currently doing several errands that might concern you if you would rather spend time with him than me." Her eyes glitter with mirth. "Of course I would rather spend time with my lovely cousin, heh heh." Jade laughs and nudges your shoulder.

"Good! I never get to see you anymore. Although, I should get used to it. As a big name screenplay artiste you won't have time for your lowly relatives!" She says this last sentence in the Squidward voice she spent weeks in front of the television perfecting. It never fails to make you break out into snorts of laughter, and this time is no exception.

"Like you can talk, Jade! You basically spent half of last night chatting with Dave," you choke out between laughs. Jade cocks her head thoughtfully at you. "Yeah." She pokes thoughtfully at her string reminders, tugging the brilliantly coloured threads. Absentmindedly, she picks at a red one.

"What did you remember," you ask. Your cousin is brilliant, you know, but it causes all of her thoughts to jumble and get lost occasionally. You're glad she can remind herself of the important things, or she might have gotten into an accident by now.

She cocks her head at you, like she's a very intelligent, old dog, and you are the new salamander that was just brought into the pet shop. Briefly, you compose a note to yourself that your similes need work. You then fire a passive aggressive note back to yourself to mind your own damn business. This sparks a war of mental post it notes, culminating in you deciding that this is stupid because you just had an entirely unproductive argument with yourself.

Meanwhile, Jade sits down on a bench directly below an overhanging canopy of tomato plants. "I guess I just remembered how odd I thought it was that you and Dave fit together so well. I mean, usually you're kind of attached to people who are very... Open." You bite your lip, bemused, and sit down next to her.

"Karkat's not open!" Jade let out a sharp bark of laughter. "John, I love Karkat nearly more than anything, but he is so honest about himself that he will tell a stranger his life story if he thinks it will help them without making it seem like he's nice." You consider this for a moment, kicking your feet back and forth.

"Anyway, that wasn't really the point."  
Jade lets a deep sigh escape, twining her fingers around the side of the bench. Her colored reminders stand out against the stark white of the metal supports. "John, you know I'm horrible with reading people's expressions. I have to base my thoughts about people on their words. The thing is... Dave's words are meant to confuse people, and there's a reason he isn't very expressive, I think."

You look at her in confusion, and she bites her cheek in exasperation. Turning her head up towards the dangling tomatoes, she sighs once more. "Okay, I guess the only way I can explain it is... Well, you know how that author guy said something about how nerds are allowed to like stuff? That's us. We get excited, we get angry, we get sad. Dave though..." She chews on her lip and continued, "Dave is like a 'cool kid'. He isn't allowing himself to like things, I guess."

You stop swinging your feet off of the bench, bristling. "Dave cares about a lot of stuff! He loves his music, he likes making people laugh, and he takes photos of everything! He-" Jade covers your mouth, smiling.

"I'm not saying he doesn't care, I'm saying that it seems like he doesn't think he can." She shrugs. "I've only met him once though. Who knows if I'm right?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Don't we have rock wool to find?" Jade huffs, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like 'boys'. "Yes, alright then. You also get to help me carry coconut shavings!"

Goody.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're not sure what you just walked in on. Whenever Karkat had invited you to come over sometime in his own, colorful fashion, he had neglected to inform you that he had a roommate. Hopefully he'll be able to explain why his roommate has a bed in the living room.

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking, asshole?" The roommate lisps this from the safety of his aforementioned bed, where he is reclining with a plethora of wires and laptops. You have to take a moment to figure out what an athhole is. Remembering a conversation you had with Egbert's cousin while you were a bit tipsy last night, you reply, "Excuse you, I may be a deuterostome, but I am a good two decades past being an asshole, thank you." You sniff. He flicks an eyebrow so that it arches higher and higher, before nodding at you. "KK, one of your smarter prostitutes is here!" He resumes fiddling with his laptop, and you think you see him smile for a moment.

"I'm not a hooker, but thank you for seeing that people would obviously pay for my services," you drawl, waggling your eyebrows and hips in unison. The roommate continues to type. Apparently he's done with you.  
You hear crashing from a room farther into the apartment, and soon Karkat has stumbled his way into the room.

"Fuck you, Sollux, I do not rent prostitutes!" He winces at the sound of his own voice, and you have to sympathize with the dude. Having that loud of a voice must be killer during headaches, and although he had less to drink than you did last night, his drinks had much higher alcohol contents. He glares at you, but it isn't quite so intimidating when you can see a container of painkillers in his hand. You're about to advise him that he's probably better off without it when he interjects, "Strider, what the avian intercourse are you doing here?"

Well, then. Maybe you should just let his liver implode after all. "I distinctly remember someone who's name rhymes with smarbat inviting me to come over whenever I want." The roommate- Sollux, you guess- raises his eyes to glare at Karkat through his tinted glasses. Within three seconds, his expression cycles from disbelief to outrage, and from outrage to a serene acceptance of Karkat's asininity. Having finished the task of making you feel unwelcome and Karkat uncomfortable, Sollux proceeds to go back to ignoring you, typing so quickly that you're sure the incessant tattoo will drive you bonkers soon enough.

"When the hell did I ever invite you to come over," Karkat blusters, bemused and angry. This seems to be his only setting, however, so you're not worried. "I don't know about you, Karmax, but I recall you mentioning that if I ever wanted to see a real movie collection, I should go to your apartment. Therefore, I was invited."

Both Sollux and Karkat squint at you, obviously skeptical of your interest in Karkat's movie collection. You sigh dramatically before placing your hand to your forehead and feigning a swoon. "Oh, woe is me! I've been discovered," you proclaim, affecting a high, Southern belle voice. "my love an' affection for K'rittles is r'vealed, an' I cannot even beg for 'is attention!" You flutter your eyelashes before remembering that no one can see your eyes unless they press their face against your shades. Sollux boos. "I request a refund as that was the worst show I have ever seen." He cocks his head, and you take a moment to translate the lisp in your head. "You're not as bad an actor as you are a prostitute, though, so kudos for that." He claps slowly before pointing to the room Karkat just exited. "Now can you both deal with whatever shit you guys need to deal with somewhere other than here." It wasn't a question, so you amble over to the doorway.

"Fine," Karkat grumbles. He follows and promptly passes you. "If you cheat on Jade, I'll cut off your dick," you hear Sollux say before Karkat closes the door. He rolls his eyes. "Like I'd cheat on Jade. She'd shoot me, then I'd shoot me, followed by John knocking my head in with a hammer, and eventually everyone Jade has ever met would get their turn to play Desecrate the Corpse of Karkat." You eye him, searching for any lack of sincerity. You find none, so you begin to look about the room. There's a sort of futon in the middle of the room, but besides that and a beanbag chair there aren't many places to sit or rest. There are gigantic shelves lining the walls, and all except one are crammed with movies. The cinematic free shelf holds several books, including one on coding and several on psychology. Strangely enough, there are several books about police forces, police brutality, and other such topics.

Karkat notices you eyeing his books. "I used to want to be a police officer," he says, not elaborating. You cock your head before asking, "so, are you a psych major?" Karkat nods. "I should probably work on the whole, my voice constantly sounds like I'm being assaulted and fucking pissed about it, thing." Huh. So he's aware that he's a shouter. You can't help but feel this is a really awkward moment.

"Strider, why are you really here?" You quirk an eyebrow at him. "Oh, Dr. Vantas, I really don't know. What is the point of my life, and what am I supposed to do with it? Every aching moment is an existential crisis that I face." Karkat scowls. "Okay, this, you shit ring of whale feces, is why I didn't want you to know about the psychology major thing. I catch enough shit about it, thanks." You kind of want to pat his head because he looks like an angry chihuahua.

"I'm minoring in mathematics," you offer. Karkat gives you a slow, disbelieving look before interjecting, "You're getting a degree?" You shrug. "I have a life outside of you and nightclubs. Anyway, the point I was making is that some people like fields that people don't expect them to, like in basketball where you have to play every field to get the ball to the goal." You feel less confident with your simile when Karkat's look grows only more skeptical. "Strider, I'm pretty fucking secure in the knowledge that that isn't how you play basketball."  
You aren't embarrassed by your lack of knowledge concerning sports, seeing as it never really seemed like something beyond incredibly stupid to you. Karkat's attitude surprises you, though, as you had him pegged for someone who was dragged to a football game once before complaining so much that he was never allowed to come back.

You arch an eyebrow. "What would you know about sports, Kargle?" Karkat puffs his chest out. "I'll have you know that I was on the soccer team in high school."

"Was John kicking balls around back then as well?" Nice subtlety. Fucking A+, Strider. Karkat gapes at you for a second before groaning and running his hand through his hair.

"I said no sex," you hear Sollux call from the other room. Karkat grimaces. "There is no sex happening with this shit head while he proceeds to be an emotionally stunted twig. He cannot grow into a douchebag tree because he is stuck being a wooden dildo that is buried deep underground, unwilling to grow past its flaccid beginnings!" There's a pause, and then you feel the need to say, "I have no idea where that came from, but if this was an interview process for a threesome with Jade and you, I'm out."

Karkat makes several more angry sounds and motions as if strangling the air. "People with healthy methods of coping with their emotions usually don't show up at their hungover neighbor's house in the hope that said neighbor might have stories from their youth about the object of their stupidly bantam affections!" You take a moment to revel in your relief at the fact that Karkat is unaware that you were just really curious about how he was apparently John's sex ed tutor.

"Clawcat, when you keep bringing up stunted things, I can't help but think you might have a complex regarding small things that haven't grown in a while." Karkat glares at you. "I hope a box of phallic objects oozing primordial ooze is dumped over your vacant cranium," he hisses. "Just ask me whatever the fuck you want to know and get out!" You squint at him, trying determine if that is a legitimate invitation or an acid coated orgy summons.

"Have you and John always been buxom buddies? Was the breast size of your friendship a solid D or a double A? Would a thirteen year old shopping for her first bra be embarrassed to buy a container for your friendship?" Karkat's lip twitches upwards into an expression of pure befuddled revulsion, and you take a moment to appreciate it. "First of all, I thought John was a fucking asshole in high school. That little dung gatherer had thousands of piles worth of shit he that he would have needed to pile together to form Mt. Feces, the most inane pile of waste in the world, before I would have so much have graced him with a scathing glare of unadulterated, righteous fury. Second of all, his great grandmother had my mom deported." He crosses his arms, scowling.

You work your jaw before asking, "doesn't that make the whole relationship with Jade kind of difficult? I mean it would be kinda shitty to show up at a family reunion and talk about that one time that Great G-ma tossed your mam out of the country." Karkat rolls his eyes. "That psychotic woman disowned Jade's side of the family, and she finally kicked the bucket about a year ago. It's not like I can stick a gnarled poker at the Egberts and proclaim them to be my sworn enemies due to the shit that their batshit relative did. Dad taught me better than that, and Mom has Skype, so what the fuck ever. Her Visa is almost approved, now that the witch is dead." You guess that Karkat's hell of a lot more mature than you give him credit for, but you're pretty sure he must have treated John like shit in high school.

"So if you had so much reason to hate John, why are you constantly checking up on him like an aggressive bird checking for a crack in her eggs?" Oh shit, probably not the best time for a mother metaphor. Luckily Karkat doesn't seem to notice. "He was failing health class. Since I shared a psychology class with him, and I had aced health, I was assigned to him as a tutor. He really fucking sucked at nutrition, and it's kind of hard to hate someone who needs you to explain to them why cake doesn't provide essential nutrients. Well, actually it's easier than pushing a circle through a five year old's wooden toy, but that's when they are genuinely so stupid that their IQ can be measured with a ruler." So when John had told you Karkat was his sex ed tutor, that had encompassed all of health and its nuances. God fucking damn it, John. He had you thinking Karkat had been his pimp daddy.

Karkat rolled his eyes. "So, is that all you wanted to know, or should I give you an explicit account of how I walked an imbecilic teenage boy through the Kinsey scale and all of its implications?" What kind of health program makes you learn about different scales? Washington is weird. "I think I'm swell, Karma chameleon." He rolls his eyes and makes a shooing motion towards you.

"Good, now leave! Away, you stupid thing!" You consider plopping down and rambling about your family just to spite him, seeing how he did it first, but instead you do as he asks. In the main room, Sollux is apparently chatting via webcam. "Bye, angry roommate guy."

Comparatively zen now, he waves a hand and says, "I'm sorry for calling you a prostitute earlier, so can we pretend that never happened?" You're about sixty per cent sure he's talking to you, although his gaze appears focused on his screen through his tinted glasses. "Yeah," you respond, "it's not a big deal." He nods, and once again you feel you have been dismissed from the conversation.

"Don't come back unless you really want to see a movie," Karkat barks, showing you to the door. You roll your eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

As the door swings closed, you hear Karkat ask, "How's Aradia doing?" You don't hear much of the response, but you think you decipher, "better".  
Well, that's probably enough of people's private shit today.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is John Egbert and you have no idea who designed your alarm clock from hell, but one day you will need to ask them how to keep it from somehow judging time in a way that is completely unacceptable. You are sure you set it to the correct time only two days ago, but now it is once more five hours ahead. You glare at it, now fully dressed, with your phone happy to supply the correct time. Knowing that you could still be asleep after panicking over how late you were is a frustrating experience.

Having nothing better to do, you stand up and brew yourself a cup of coffee. While you wait, you consider toasting some bread with cinnamon and butter. Contemplating this, you stare out the window. It seems odd to be making your coffee while the sun is still down, and Dave inside. You are most definitely not disappointed that you cannot see him going through the motions of his workout. Not at all.

Ugh. Why can you never be attracted to people you don't know already? It just makes everything awkward. You've usually settled nicely into the sphere of semi-close friends with people before your libido decides to make an appearance, fifteen minutes late with a latte in hand. Maybe it's all because of the cake your dad made you eat when you were younger. It's awkward enough when the object of your affections is someone you can give flowers- usually picked out by Jade after that unfortunate incident with the funeral wreath- to without being embarrassed. Well, less embarrassed than you would be giving them to a guy who has made penis jokes with you more than a couple of times. You plunge your bread into the toaster, growing frustrated as you think about it.

Seriously, Dave makes fun of everything, and if he made fun of you for something like that- Holy shit, you're acting like a girl. You're not even acting like a cool girl, like Rose or Jade. You've got to think of manly things.

Wait, you're a guy. Anything you think is manly because you're a guy. You could pick flowers and ride a pony and it would be manly as fuck. Thus appeased, you try to find the train of thought that crashed more effectively than the train in Source Code; of course that extends to every time it crashed put together. You lost it again. Damn.

It probably wasn't that important, you reason. Besides, your thoughts are shot this early in the morning anyway. You affix your toaster with a gormless expression, attempting to speed up time and allow for the food to travel to your mouth with greater haste. Maybe you should work on your research for your thesis, since you have time. You aren't excited at the prospect.

You wonder when Dave works on his coursework, and lo and behold, you have once more found part of your train of thought. Bluh. Your trains are stupid. They're like those tables of model trains that go in circles but never go anywhere, except they're in thought form. As frustrated as Dave is making you, you feel like he deserves to be pranked. Maybe you should piss in his apple juice.

Okay, no one deserves that, but still. You jump as the toast pops up, and glare at it for its tardiness. It's a good thing it's tasty. The bastard must face its final punishment, in any case. You sentence it to twenty-four hours of jail time in your stomach. Once it's free, however, you're sure that that hardened ex con with a heart of gold will find its way to a new home, family and life. The things you sacrifice for a happy ending.

You're thinking up a backstory for toast. Toast, John. God. You are such an idiot sometimes. As you yawn your eyes find your phone on the worn surface of the wooden table. You suppose it wouldn't hurt to check if anyone's awake this morning.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is Dave Strider, you just tripped on a sword, and that's really all there is to say on the matter. You now have an assortment of different wounds on your foot, due to hitting the sword in several different ways. You feel like a bit of a raging imbecile right now, and not unlike one of those people in infomercials who mess things up for no good reason.

It's a bit early in the morning to be shanking yourself, but you were itching to get some practice in. Besides, John started pestering you, and he's usually in bed till just before noon.

You shift awkwardly. You have to adjust your position to be comfortable, due to your perch consisting of your butt hanging in your bathroom sink, and your legs being splayed out on the counter. Once that's done, you have to wait for the cuts to dry after wiping them with hydrogen peroxide, and you take a moment to consider whether you need stitches. Due to the sword being shitty as the backside of a horse however, the cuts aren't very deep. Some Neosporin and bandages will suit you just fine, you think.

In the mean time, you hop over and clean the sword. It's a good thing your tetanus shots are up to date, otherwise you'd be pissed enough to break the sword as a sacrifice to the infection gods. Hell, you might do it anyway. You consider it for a long moment before deciding that with the way your day is going you ain't taking that chance. You'd probably slice up your hands in your quest to prove a point to a sword that is so shitty that it's the antithesis of swords in general. It's less of a sword and more or a dumbass dildo that managed to sharpen itself to such a point that it could be labeled a sword.

One day, you realize, you will be so inundated with the pornographic miscellanea around your house that every single one of your metaphors will turn into the possibility of you deep throating a foot long sandwich, followed by your inevitable decline into classy adult filmography. You wouldn't dare touch the cheaper stuff, as your ass is fine enough that people should pay good money to have it grace their sleazy box televisions and PCs. Even Mac users might deign to watch you do the dirty in full retina. You have no idea where this thought process was leading, but you're pretty certain that it was fucking stupid from the very beginning. At least it's in your head; that shit would be fucking embarrassing to say out loud.

Who are you kidding? You could totally pull that off. Karkat would probably give you a dirty look and ban you from talking to him for at least twelve minutes, but that dude says way worse shit every three seconds. In comparison, John would snort harder than a concussed pig and make sure you know that there are very few people that would want to ogle your ass. Fuck those people, your ass is great.

You're back on the stupid thoughts. You glare at your wounded foot. Obviously your temporary idiocy is the fault of your pediatric problems. Holy shit, never mind; that would mean you have a foot fetish. Bluh, no, that thought is not a thing that you are thinking. It could be the sword polishing thing, but who knows.

Deciding that your foot has had quite enough time to dry, and growing bored with watching your blood well up like your foot is the entrance to a vampiric frat party, you set your sword aside and get to work applying some Neosporin and bandages. Now you just have to deal with the way it will hurt like the original Little Mermaid every time you use your foot. Hans Christian Anderson probably looked into the future and spied upon your handsome visage as you sustained the true pain of stepping on a sword. That sly dog probably based at least sixty per cent of the tale off of you. You're the best mermaid known to mankind, you're sure.

You swing your legs over the side of the bathroom counter, and with a smooth motion you slide your Iphone across the nearly frictionless countertop. With a slick sound the phone barrels into your thigh. In a matter of seconds, you have it in your hands.

**ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]**

EB: i have been glaring at toast for like half an hour. 

TG: sounds like a personal problem 

EB: dave, i'm bored. 

TG: then go do something that isnt boring 

TG: for instance me 

EB: i'll let you know if i can't find a worthier hobby to partake in. 

TG: abuse and more abuse is all i get from this relationship 

TG: next time i want a pony 

EB: you aren't getting a pony until you eat your vegetables. 

TG: but mom ive been so good lately 

EB: david patrice leroux strider, you will eat your vegetables! 

TG: no 

TG: hold on one sec i gotta check if i just sliced off my foot 

EB: what? 

EB: dave, what happened? 

EB: are you okay? 

EB: okay douchfart this isn't funny! 

EB: you totally dipped on me, asshole! 

EB: get back here and tell me you're okay! 

EB: i'm gonna piss in your apple juice, i swear to god. 

TG: thats the only thing that keeps me alive dont do that 

EB: holy shit dave, just tell me what happened! 

TG: stepped on something sharp 

TG: not a big deal 

TG: like such a little deal that howie mandel would just shake his head and order all of the briefcases full of money in the world to be opened wide before you in sympathy for the inevitable short end of the shaft you are taking 

EB: you fucking scared me! 

TG: sorry mom 

EB: i'm gonna shove vegetables down your throat. 

TG: i think that is the theme of many a porno john 

EB: gross! 

TG: the human body is a wonderful thing how dare you say that 

TG: speaking of gross do you know a good take out place 

EB: no, because anything with fast, king, or mc in the name is gonna suck. however, i can cook actual food. 

TG: you lie fiendish liar mcfire pants 

TG: youre a college student without a roommate how can you possibly be able to fend for yourself 

TG: is this gonna be a hunger games hannibal thing 

TG: did you cook karkat 

EB: firstly, i am incapable of lies. i am actually a robot programmed only to speak the truth. secondly, my dad cooked and baked a lot, so he taught me a lot of recipes. finally, cooking is actually a lot cheaper than buying gross meals infected with stds. 

TG: scuse you that is my family youre talking about 

EB: stds? 

TG: gross meals 

TG: get your mind out of the gutter 

TG: anyway was that an invitation to the egbert vs eggs show?? 

EB: it might've been. it depends on if you're polite or not. 

TG: john please i am the epitome of delightful and privileged company 

TG: if you tug on my ear it leaks diamonds 

EB: i'm gonna regret this so much. 

TG: hells yeah you are 

TG: no take backs 

**turntechGodhead is now an idle chum!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear these chapters just keep getting longer. I'm sorry that this took so long to post, and my only excuse is that a friend of mine inspired me to start writing a Jake/Kankri fic. I'd like to send out a thank you to Meah for introducing me to the world of Washington slang, and thank the rest of you for reading so far.


	6. Incongruency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Canadian gods are surely singing their anthem, bleeding their maple ichor upon their maple-hoofed steeds in celebration of the perfection that your pancakes encompass."

Your name is John Egbert, and you have no idea what to cook. You promised Dave that an edible meal would be prepared by the time he arrived, and yet you are left without a clue as to what you're going to make. Hell, with the way your day is going, you'll make something that Dave is fatally allergic to.

Your day started with the sound of birds chirping much too loud, and it took you at least five minutes to realize that it was because they were in your bedroom. With a shout, and a solid hour of hand waving and maneuvering, you finally manage to get the feathery demons out of your apartment. However, their feathers are everywhere, and you have to wonder why the universe wants you to go so long without sleep. It's not even the pleasant way of going without sleep; it's the evil, contrived, "every force in the universe is conspiring against me," way of being completely and utterly fucked in the rest department.

After five minutes of staring down at a blank grocery list, you decide to ask Dave if he has any preferences- in regards to food, you mean.

**ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]**

EB: so if i prepare mushrooms or something in nut sauce, will you die? 

TG: first of all mushrooms are fucking nasty and secondly tell me more about this nut sauce of which you speak 

EB: just tell me whether or not you have allergies, asshole. for instance, i would die if we had nut sauce. therefore nut sauce isn’t an option. i was basically talking out of my ass.

TG: youre allergic to nuts??

EB: just peanuts, so if your package is as small as your sister says, you should probably stay far away.

TG: im allergic to your sass mister egbert

EB: anything else besides my elucidations and professions of doing everything in my ability to frustrate your verbal irony, then?

TG: dont do that again it took like three minutes for you to type that out

TG: leave the convolutions of your mind and vocabulary for rose to figure out

TG: she loves that shit

EB: isn't she busy with her book?

TG: she writes for the sole purpose of projecting metaphors onto unsuspecting readers and delving into the subconscious desires of fictional characters

TG: trust me when i say that your mind is just as interesting to her as wizard porn

EB: she writes wizard porn? 

TG: im not saying its porn

TG: but its porn 

EB: you're so full of shit.

TG: excuse you i am full of grade a imported french manure

TG: le shite is my name and fertilizing the parisian country side is my game

EB: it's no wonder rose doesn't want to examine your mind because it's obviously broken.

TG: oh hell no shes had a field day with psychoanalizing me before

TG: ah yes lets look at all the phallic subtext of your dreams dave

TG: thank you rose

TG: 10/10 would recommend

EB: you two have the weirdest relationship.

TG: excuse me i told you i have an allergy to your sass

EB: just tell me if you have any food allergies. god.

TG: im glad you finally recognize me for who i am inside

EB: shut uuuuuuuup and tell meeeeeeee

TG: wow tht is really an unnecessary amount of vowels

EB: that's it i'm making mushrooms

TG: no dont its fungus and gross

TG: i have a bit of a reaction to onions but im not fatally allergic 

TG: you shall see no flashing lights as im dragged deeper into the er

TG: oh doctor can you save him???

TG: who would do such a thing

TG: the camera pans forward and it is revealed that the doctor was an onion this entire time

EB: oh hahahahaha i am laughing so hard i may have just died. such sincere laughter. anyway, you'll be over around eight, right?

TG: ill be over the river and through the woods in no time

TG: so yeah

EB: alright.

**ectoBiologist [EB] stopped pestering turntechGodhead [TG]**

Maybe you were a little short with Dave, but allergies were always kind of a big deal in your family. If he made light of an issue that could seriously hurt him, well, it made you feel uneasy. Eh, you'd get him back for it one day. Maybe you'd pretend to fall over and get a concussion or something, and see how he liked your making light of an issue.

For now, you're stuck with googling recipes on your phone, since your computer is still running wild with satanic strings of code that babble and froth like a binary cauldron. Ugh. You should leave the marred similes to Dave. You hear the alert go off once more, but the message is from Rose this time.

**tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]**

TT: My brother is rifling through his closet. It would be hilarious if it were not quite so apparent that his wardrobe has not seen the light of day since the mid-nineties era. However, as that was a time in which grave destruction ravaged America, striking at its fashion dependent core, he may be a tad late for dinner.

EB: how deep has he burrowed into the closet?

TT: He has definitely made it far enough to spot snow, but he has yet to venture so far as to consume tea and cookies with Aslan.

EB: if he goes to narnia without bringing me, i'm going to be pissed!

TT: As you rightly should be, I'd hope.

EB: how do you know dave is picking out clothes anyway?

TT: Oh please, Dave has never been in any closet, proverbial or corporeal, that I could not pull apart, and out of which I could coax him. This, along with the fact that my girlfriend has the innate ability to sense when bad clothing choices are being made, worked in my favor.

EB: that's an interesting skill.

TT: She says, "Thank you, but it's not nearly as complex or impressive as the hereditary porn analysation skills passed down through the Strider family."

TT: Speaking of which, has he introduced you to the family treasure that is the excess of mannequin dick?

EB: rose, you were the one that told me i freaked him out about the puppets.

TT: That doesn't mean he showed you the website.

EB: oh, shit. there we have the perfect prank material, and he refuses to share it with me! think of all the possibilities!

TT: It's truly a travesty. Following the same line of thought, I'd like to invite you to share a meal with us all.

EB: right now? im kind of in the middle of preparing dinner myself.

TT: No, I meant sometime in the near future.

EB: sure thing, rose! sorry, i have to go now!

TT: Ah, take care not to poison my brother. His incessant whining is cited as one of the contributory factors of an elusive disease that causes the extension of my middle finger for a duration of a full minute.

EB: haha! i'll try not to. bye!

TT: Goodbye, John.

**ectoBiologist [EB] is now an idle chum**

You look around your kitchen for a moment, musing that things would go a bit more smoothly if your cousin were here. Her army of consumable plants has often proven to be an immeasurable force. After what must be a solid ten minutes of staring blankly at your counter you open the drawer under your stove, grazing your hand over the rocky surface of the surrounding countertop as you crouch down to do so. You soon pop back up, holding a sizeable frying pan. Deep in thought, you set it down. You bite your lip for a long moment before letting your mouth form a cheese-eating grin. You know exactly what to make.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re not sure what you were expecting. “So, what do you think, Dave?” 

You’re staring down at a table full of breakfast food. It is eight thirty at night, yet you spot a stack of pancakes dripping with maple ichor, and as much as these appear to be gifts from the Canadian gods of breakfast in and of themselves, there’s more to be offered. Pastel yellow omelets, still bubbling with heat, send wafts of deliciously scented air your way. A pitcher of apple- not orange- juice shines in its place as the centerpiece of the table. A bowl of hash is nearing the fine line between sitting on the small table and tumbling onto the floor. All in all, you have to make sure you haven’t gone to heaven for a minute. 

“I could kiss you,” you breathe. It’s been forever since you’ve had a breakfast with so many trimmings it could be used in scrapbooking. The fact that it’s at night only serves to entice you further, as its defiance of breakfast’s foundations is decidedly ironic. 

You can’t tear your eyes away from the food for more than a moment, but you do so in order to ask, “so this entire feast is for us?” John nods and grins, a dorky widening of his mouth that showcases his rather prominent buckteeth.

You cock your head at John. “Huh. If this is breakfast for dinner, why isn't there any bacon?" Oh, shit. That sounded so fucking judgemental and passive aggressive. You're an idiot. John shifts uncomfortably, and sweet Jesus did you fuck up. How do you apologize without actually apologizing?

"Well, I didn't know if you were a vegetarian or not. I mean, since this is Texas, I know that you're all, 'if it isn't meat it doesn't count as food,' but it's sort of a thing my dad ingrained into me, y'know?" Then, as fast as the doubt had floated its way over his face in its own cloud of emotional flatulence, it was chased away by his dorky snorting. "Besides, I figured if you were the classic Texas archetype of meat-munchers that you'd be pissed that I forgot the staple food. I was a bit convinced that I should screw you over for a minute."

You take a moment determinedly ignoring certain suggestive components of his sentence before deciding that's just not the way Striders stride. "Oh," you drawl, "so are you a quote, meat-muncher, unquote?" You think you detect a higher pitch to his voice as he proclaims, "I consider myself flexitarian."

Wow. That should not sound like a double entendre. Anyway, you have food in front of you; never mind the fact that it's home cooked, it's warm and it smells delicious. You ease into the chair closest to the dish that's about to tumble to the floor. "I'm pretty sure that's not actually a thing."

John pouts at you. "It is so a thing." You swear to god if he sticks his tongue out at you, you will have to leave for at least ten minutes of alone time. God, you need to get laid.

He pulls out the chair before flopping into it, hopping it forward to edge it back under the table. You roll your eyes at him. He's such a dork. He knows that fact well, judging by the way he glances at you, looking for a reaction every time he does something especially goofy.

He looks exasperated for a minute, and you have no idea why. "Eat, stupid," he commands, gesturing at the empty plate by your hand. You begin piling things onto your plate faster than most humans can think about doing the same thing. 

John smirks at you. “So, I’m guessing the absence of bacon isn’t eating you up too much, eh?” You roll your eyes at him, allowing the pancakes to settle on your plate for a moment longer. “It would take at least five gigantic cannibals to eat me, John. Well, that, or an exceptionally talented hooker.” John snorts. “Okay wiseass, eat or I’ll put laxatives in your omelet when you aren’t looking.” You shoot him an unimpressed look before returning to your dripping pile of breakfast food.

You nearly moan as you take the first bite. Canadian gods are surely singing their anthem, bleeding their maple ichor upon their maple-hoofed steeds in celebration of the perfection that your pancakes encompass. Shit, that stuff is good.

John laughs, shoveling some of his omelet into his mouth. “Should I leave you two alone? I don’t think you can convince those flapjacks to put out until at least the third date, though.” You smirk at him. “ah yes, Dave Strider: nightmare for the heterosexual agenda. First he has sex with every person in the world, then pancakes? Whatever shall we do? It’s a weapon of mass seduction that cannot be tamed, mister president.”

John flicks a piece of hash brown at you. “It’s a good thing I passed on making French toast. Who knows what you would have done.”

“I would make sweet love to your culinary skills on the kitchen floor, duh. Where the hell did you get this fancy ass syrup?” It makes you remember the special bottles of maple syrup Rose would drop by with, along with bright red hot dogs that tasted hella better than most of the shit you usually bought, and some marshmallow crème stuff called fluff that never cropped up in any state that had decent hot wings.

“My dad sends me lots of sweet stuff, and it helps that Jade travels a lot and picks me up stuff like that. I wish they’d get me practical stuff once and a while, or at least,” he holds it in for a few seconds, biting his lip and making sure you’re catching the suspense, “practical jokes.” He flashes you a big, dorky grin like he’s so fucking proud of his little bit of wordplay, and you almost have to hide your face because that’s fucking adorable as hell. 

“Damn, I was sure I’d get you to laugh that time. Soon! Soon,” he muttered, modulating his voice like the total dork he is. You’re about to counter this with the fact he has seen you laugh before, when you hear the frantic noises a windows computer makes when it’s about to die a painful death. ‘Let me sing you the song of my people,’ its crooning communicates. “Dude, I think your computer’s trying to commit seppeku.” John rolls his eyes. “You change the subject only because you fear my knowledge of the correlation between your laughter and the apocalypse.”

“Did you really kill your computer?” John scoffs. “Psh, no. Probably not. There is a distinct possibility that it is more or less, relatively, almost completely, not beyond repair.” You finish your second pancake in relative silence before standing up. “Alright then. Let me at it.”

You cross over to the expiring piece of equipment as John stands up behind you. His desk is covered in useless crap, but that’s its perpetual state of being. “What the hell, Dave? You’re a computer whiz, now?” You shrug. “Eh, I’m good with numbers and the languages they’re buried assfuck deep in. Programming is another one of those languages, and computers use a couple more of them all in tandem. It’s a pretty cool scene, and I enjoy playing a few gigs there when I can. Pun completely intended, bee-tee-dubs.” You sit in front of the computer and try to diagnose the problem. 

“Although, to tell you the truth, I mostly got interested in programming the shittiest layout possible for a website when I was a tweenie bopper. I used to draw this ironically shitty webcomic called Sweet Bro and Hella-”

“Jeff?” John is grinning at you, his eyes lit up in recognition as you swivel around to look at him. “Holy shit, you actually read that shitty thing,” you breathe, about to fall over with disbelieving laughter. “I knew that tent cartoon thing looked familiar. Geez, that brings back really shitty middle school memories. Please tell me you don’t have links to my old accounts on any forums relating to Ghostbusters, Nick Cage, or Squiddles.” You raise an eyebrow. “Squiddles?”

“No, shut up.” You smirk, turning back to the computer. “You said it, not me. You have to tell the story.” John huffs. “No, fuck you. I bet you had like a Bella Sarah account, or whatever that unicorn thing was called.” You hold up a finger. “I am never ashamed of my equine friends. You, however, deny your squid brethren.”

“Well, whatever else might come, at least I never had a weaboo stage,” John says. You shake your head. “Man, the Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff thing was almost as bad.” John goes to grab a pancake, eating it without syrup and out of his own hand. “Nah, you must still like it if you drew it on that tent fort thing.”

You fiddle with the computer in silence for a few moments. “The tent’s pretty old, John. I hadn’t gotten it out since the dick end of adolescence.”  
John grins. “Cool. So next time, you can get the food and set up the tent. You owe me, Mr. I-come-over-and-eat-all-the-popcorn-on-movie-nights-and-who’s-that-douchebag-anyway.”

“Egbert, did you just invite yourself over to my house? I thought you were raised better than that,” you chuckle.  
“You’re so full of bullshit that it’s almost adorable.”  
“I am a gift, and you’re lucky to have me.”  
“Uh huh, sure.”  
“This is stupid,” you protest. However, as you fix an abused computer, John leaning against your back, you find you don’t really care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this is so late, but it was harder than it should have been to figure out what the hell John was going to cook.


End file.
